PruHun Week Drabbles: Rubies and Emeralds
by FlamingHelmet
Summary: "Will they say in sounds the things that we quietly, in the silence of our eyes confess?" — José Saramago / In which me and my buddy try not to fail writing about our OTP. We decided to participate minutes before the first day so we are actually pretty sorry if we suck.
1. Childhood

"Your eyes, your flash, they guide me inside the darkness." — Tribalistas

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><p>I hated you. I didn't only think you were inconvenient, I didn't just dislike you. I hated you a lot. I dreamed of a thousand of ways of how I would come face to face with you and of how I would kill you. Actually, there was even this time in which I simply hit your head with a mace, just like how golf players do.<p>

Really? I couldn't stand you; I couldn't stand your voice, your obnoxious laugh. I hated the way you walked as if the world was yours; as if everything was yours.

I hated the way you went to battle with that heavy armour and that equally heavy sword and imposed respect being so sure of yourself, without even faltering before a Cuman general. You were not afraid and it bugged me. It could be because you had never had any loss experience against the Turks, it could be because you really were ridiculous and clueless.

It is funny because we were very different from one another. I would choose to listen. You would choose to speak. I would choose defence. You would choose attack. It may have been because of such differences – even after our constant bickering – that it all went (reasonably) well when we joined forces to defend Burzenland. We trained together for a long time. I confess being slightly suspicious for a while because alliances were things that changed as much as the direction of the gales, but I was happy knowing that you didn't know about something back then; of how bad it was not being able to trust anyone. And sometimes I asked myself if you had ever had a friend.

It was from those small details, from the way you would wake me up early to watch the sunrise, to watch the bunnies getting out of their burrows during winter's last days, to run away from our superiors… It was on those small things that we built that strong feeling that we knew it would endure time and life's intemperances.

Sometimes, I thought I had lost that friend of mine in you, like in that time when I told you I was marrying Roderich. You would get angry at a lot of things, but in that time you only smiled and turned your back on me. Without giving me any clue of what you were thinking about it, I did not hear of you for almost ten years. And then I thought I was making a mistake.

I also did not understand the reason behind me being a girl changing almost completely the way you looked at me. You looked at me with hesitation, fearing you would say some kind of bullshit. No, you never needed to tell me that all. I had already learned to read and understand your eyes.

It was horrible to have to treat you like a stranger in front of pretty much everyone. It was horrible to be treated like a stranger. And the situation only got worse when I had to pick sides. Because you started to avoid me, to not look at me anymore. I unlearned to read you. Unlearned to understand you. Even because everything I was able to see inside your eyes were anger and rage… The very same things that I thought that were the only ones that resided in them.

Feelings are like flames; and every flame is born from a spark. That is the fuel to our lives. I hated you so much back then… But it wasn't a bad feeling at all, because if I really didn't care so much for you, I wouldn't hate you: I would simply erase you. I would try to erase you from my memories once and for all every night…

But you were always there smiling, bringing me to some spot in the woods to watch the sunrise. And the flames in my heart burned fiercely again, made the water inside me boil. By the laws of Physics, when the water touches a cold surface, it condenses and turns into liquid water once again; when the steam of my feelings tried to get out, it only found the coldest part of my self, the Erzsébet who tied to destroy you.

The water would condense. The tears would appear.

It didn't matter how much I tried to prove myself that you were hateful, disgusting and selfish. For me, you weren't. Never was. I had the honour of having met you as a whole, Gilbert. Of having met you during your most intrinsically human moment.

I had the honor of meeting your child self… for whom mine has fallen in love.

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><p><strong>FlamingHelmet<strong>: We are actually pretty serious when it comes to writing, and writing those chapters are proving to be a lot more than we expected. Shit, trying not to be serious 24/7 in this one was intense.

**LángolóSisak**: Mainly because SOMEONE HERE decided to retry writing this chapter from scratch at midnight. And I was probably drunk on Skype [yes, he was].

Anyways, we hope you guys liked! If so, the next chapter is already there, so take a look and see you there!


	2. Socks and Sweaters

"Love only exists in the heat of eminence, touch, and contact. The coldness of the rest although reminds a little of love is, actually, nonsense." — Gabito Nunes

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><p>When I was a brat, I loved the cold. Simply loved to go out in the winter mornings and play by myself in the snow. Maybe because I was raised somewhere around the Baltic Sea, or because the sun would easily burn my skin. Whatever it was, cold had never been an enemy of mine.<p>

At least, not the climatic cold or the one that came with the falling snow. The cold of the soul haunted me at night. My biggest fears would get out from their caves and terrorize me until I fall asleep. Much more than nightmares, those fears were part of me. Everyone has their monsters; some more than others.

I was stubborn too. Wanted to do everything by myself to show people that I was strong, that I wasn't afraid of anything… Until today I am somewhat like that, but it would be so much better if I knew how heavy the burden one carries alone would be.

In all my long existence, I never doubted the perpetuation of my nation. Shit, I was one of the biggest military powers that had ever walked on this planet. Who would be brave enough to challenge me in my golden years? But then again, it looked like golden years didn't last forever. I learned it when it was already too late. The world wasn't my backyard anymore, and the sword I carried would no longer cut through anything.

And so, I fell like Lucifer fell from the Heavens: Not as an angel, not as a human. But Hell was much colder than I thought, much darker than I imagined. Prussia died in 1947.

Inside his body, Gilbert woke up. He looked around and saw the USSR. Some faces were familiar to him: Ivan, Feliks, Toris, Eduard, Raivis, Natalya, Yekaterina. And, finally, Elizaveta. Or rather…

_Erzsébet_.

I had been so distant from you that I believed I had no longer authorization to look in your eyes again. I didn't know exactly what I had done wrong, but Prussia's ghost mocked me every time I felt unsure of talking to you. I was afraid of you and didn't know.

Even though I deserved that you explained everything in the worst way ever, yet you didn't do it. When I woke up lost, defeated, you only smiled and left my room in the great Soviet household. It took me a long time to finally get the situation. Ivan told me the consequences of the war, the politic dynamic of the new bipolar order, the East and the West, the walls. He just didn't tell me what I wanted to know: Who was I? Where did the line between Prussia and Gilbert go? The Slav gave me a gentle tap on my shoulder and bid farewell, saying that I should head to East Germany.

The empty shell named Gilbert packed his few belongings up and left. It was a small house in Berlin, divided and shredded into four sectors. The cold slowly invaded my life, freezing my eyes in the same place for too long and only allowing me to look fixedly at the walls. The cold froze my legs and forbid me from roaming away from home. The cold froze my soul, making me unable of feeling anything but the cold itself. Even so, a spark was just enough to get me up from my bed and drag my feet to the door. The bell was ringing.

When I opened the door, your strangely shy smile asked me if you could come in. Shyness never was something that you would feel. And for the first time in so long, I felt something. Okay, it could have been irritation because of the way you looked happy, as if nothing serious was going on, but it certainly was good to feel something. And maybe, by the way I reacted, also ignoring any other problem, ignoring the cold, you might have felt that old intimacy we shared before the distance and the silence.

You let your coat rest on the couch and made a horrible joke. But I laughed. And you also laughed. I coughed up quite loudly and you worried about it, putting me to sit.

"Wait here," and you went off in my house, searching for my blanket while I thought of something to say, any word of apologize for something I was still trying to understand, as if I was asking forgiveness for a sin I had not committed. Until then, you were already coming back with the blanket and was sitting to my side, asking about news.

"Nothing is happening," I lied. I knew well that you could still read me like an open book. Although what I didn't know was that my eyes begged so hard for a hug, but thanks for giving it. Thank you for telling me – in a strong embrace – that I wasn't well, and that I didn't need to face it all alone. Until today, I feel your hand caress my hair, calming me down. All that cold, all that agony seemed to melt in the moment.

There was no Cold War, there was no fear, and there was no doubt. Only that warm feeling bubbling inside my weak chest.

"I was thinking of a reason to come visit you, but I would feel really stupid telling you that I only wanted to see you. So I bought you these." I faked being weaker than I really was just so she would put the sweater and the socks that she bought on me. "If you get sick again, I swear…"

We had never talked about what we tried to hide in all of those jokes, the occasional flirting and physical contacts like these, but – deep inside – we already knew.

"Even if I get lovesick?

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><p><strong>LángolóSisak<strong>: In this one, I really didn't know what to write. So here we have a poor excuse of an angsty chapter orz. I'm a huge fan of History and the Cold War, and there have been some changes from the original version (in Portuguese). Translating is hard.

**FlamingHelmet**: We are both into History, actually. I'm a teacher myself, so there was no way we couldn't have got into any historic moment.

We hope you've enjoyed it and we'll later bring more! See ya soon!


	3. Kiss

"These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder which, as they kiss, consume." — Shakespeare

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><p>Waltzes make me sleepy. Poems and love declarations put me in a bad mood. However, even I knew how rude would it be to belittle those forms of art, even if I myself did not consider it art. Disadvantages of being born a wilding, I suppose. Still, I had gotten used quite well to life in palaces, among kings and queens, lords and madams. I could not deny that it was all a big hassle for me, but did I had other choice but to keep playing along? Some operas were interesting, though. Such a shame they were so few.<p>

Both Roderich and I knew it; and even a bit more: We knew that in political marriages we could be greatly disappointed if we allowed this kind of relationship to go on. We even felt a little something there, but that was the minimum to keep a marriage. We did not use each other; we did not betray each other... It was all politics covered up with a very thin coat of honest feelings. I had loved that man at some point in my life, but that point had been back there; and the moment back in there was covered in a thick fog of questions and confusions caused by my heart. That was until I put in my head that I wanted no lover, no soul mate; whatever you want to call it.

There, deep in my soul, I knew I was still a wilding, an exotic bird. An untamed steed trying to break free from the reins and resume the path of its own heart. The politics kept me tied to unions and alliances I did not want, but – for the good of those who were blood of my blood – I should perpetuate for up to when I would have the courage to throw everything into the air and call myself autonomous again.

Nevertheless, that day was not coming that soon. I was envious of my not-tied-to-extremely-bureaucratic-marriages colleagues, because – frankly – I would like to be there in the middle of the mess, among the troops, gunfights and some rare (but epic) sword duels, who knows. "A lady does not use her hands to touch guns," some women insisted on telling me. At least not when I did not need to, since I could still pack a punch.

Therefore, I could only see my colleagues in extremely formal balls, in which our leaders discussed politics and we tried to behave. It was horrible to have to maintain my composure at all times, especially to people you did not know, or knew and did not bother to please. So, my interaction with other nations was limited to merely unnecessarily cordial greetings and a dance or two. From afar, I watched them talking loudly, laughing at some unique events that they would witness at the battlefield or narrating their amazing battles. I, Erzsébet, had not fought a battle, had nothing funny to tell (apart from the fact of a poor madam tripping over her own dress in one of these operas), or anything relevant to add. I expected – sitting in a higher place – the party to end soon for me to finally go home and take all those things off, even though I found the dresses simply beautiful.

From above, I would always see him following his ruler like an obedient dog or sitting, looking at his watch. Sometimes I would notice him looking for spots on his impeccable uniform and occasionally frowning. Gilbert had also not been made to attend to those parties.

The environment suffocated me with all that noise, that smell of food and that odious mixture of the most diverse perfumes. I went down and snuck out of there. I gave the guards a lame excuse so they would let me go to the large garden behind the palace hall.

I belonged to the outside world, away from politics and the masked balls, the result of the lies we forged to each other.

"You came out here to breathe too?" I heard his voice speak tiredly by my side. I was sitting on one of the garden's short walls as he approached me. He stopped there, and I just signalled to him that he could occupy the space to my right. A slight odour of alcohol was there.

There was not much to talk to him. We faced moments of political tension: The King of Prussia did not accept that the successor to the Austrian throne was a woman and took an important region of our kingdom. I no longer suspected the Gilbert's silence, because alcohol always made him sleepy and heavier. I thought that forcing a conversation would not be the best choice.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could be who we really are from time to time?" He nudged me lightly. "Raise our voice and say what we really think of things?" I nodded slightly. The desire to be able to take off the dress crossed my mind again. Really... In addition to wearing what I wanted to, be able to have a voice to dictate what I should do instead of having to listen to a bunch of old and bald men decide in a totally arbitrary council.

"The world needs more people who do not care for the opinion of others. The world needs revolutionary stubborn people," he mumbled. That sleepy drunk was making sense. "Strong people like Maria Theresa," Gilbert turned to me, his eyes trying to focus on my own.

His face was practically glued to mine. I did not know if he was aware of what he was doing, the distance that existed between our lips. Today, I do not know if it was out of curiosity, if it was by the will itself, or if it was because I could not stand his arbitrary philosophy. But I approached him, I let my hands bring his face closer to mine and let his rest them on my waist and on my lower.

I let my enemy claim my lips and my feelings.

"The world needs more Erzsébets."

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><p><strong>FlamingHelmet: <strong>I thought of something cuter, but I obviously have some problem trying to come up with ideas for Gilbert's lines and way of behaving.

**LángolóSisak: **That's when he game me a ring on Skype and asked me to help him, that it was _urgent_.


	4. I'm Sorry

"Experience, the name men give to their mistakes." — Oscar Wilde

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><p>One day, I read a book about the conflict "Human x Machine", of how the efficiency of the machines could replace the organic labourers in factories and assembly lines and that entire theoretical blunder. Age does that to you.<p>

For some reason, I began to try to understand where nations would fit this classification. I was just a puppet for my kings and many times, I simply obeyed without objections to their orders. However, before you call me a murderer, a monster, remember that the life of a human was not something I could understand at all times. I could not understand the possible significance of such a short period of time that was human life next to mine. They were like pawns in a chess game.

Still, I was not very insensitive to the deaths around me; through my hands or not, directly or indirectly. It was a somewhat black-and-white problem. My conscience was walking on a tightrope between empathy and the coldness. Guilt was an old acquaintance of mine in my nightmares, in lucid dreams in which a stack of bodies white as ghosts – whose faces always appeared horribly disfigured – piled on me, laughing at me, mocking me and my mistakes.

Stupid and small mistakes, like that time Erzsébet took me to dance at a ball in Hungary during the _Belle Époque_. It was dirty from her, because I had never trained enough to be a good Csárdás dancer. It seemed that my clumsy way was so funny that it actually was worth those stomps on her feet and illegally improvised steps. Moreover, I showered apologizes as we danced, but she just kept laughing and dancing.

"I'm sorry."

"_Ne állj!_" [1]

In war, I wanted to be a machine and not need to be afraid of making mistakes. In times of peace, I wanted to be human and see grace in life. It was funny, because I never correctly got the right measure of things. Therefore, I settled with being a machine. "Machines do not make mistakes, do not feel." Perhaps, my job was to obey. I was good at it.

However, the fear of nightmares only became the fear of not being able feeling anything. Anything but the worst of human feelings. Anger, envy, jealousy, greed...

A few people still tried to keep a minimally decent contact with me. Erzsébet was one of them. But war changes people, makes our monsters emerge and arrest us within our own bodies to witness our sins. Moreover, what would happen when the last war was over? Would we be humans or machines? Perfect or imperfect? Or would we be just monsters?

I carried with me for a long time before I let it slip to her in one of those visits she paid to my house from time to time. Until I felt the alcohol make me express my confusion before my own theory. And until she kissed me hard and give me a new label.

"Neither machine nor human. You are Gilbert. I am Erzsébet. "

She laid me on the bed and took off her clothes. She then lay down on me, explored my neck, kissed my eyes, bit my ear. Slowly, she was undressing me, discovering me. She drew a path of small bites from my neck to as far as the waist of my pants allowed. My hands searched for support in her body, which arched up to my touches.

Neither error nor hit. Regardless of the results, only the experience mattered. Just like the Csárdás. Just like having sex.

I moved inside her, and she sighed in a different way.

"I'm sorry."

"_Ne állj_..." she whispered and pulled me to herself to close the distances between our bodies, asking me to kiss her again.

And again.

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><p><strong>LángolóSisak: <strong>I had a couple of messages telling me to try writing something… with a little more _spice_. I used to write a lot more of these, but y'know…

**FlamingHelmet: **Lángoló isn't that pure. Don't let him fool ya.


	5. Let's dance!

"My heart beats and dances. Because I do not know how to feel without the rhythm." — Anna Paulla

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><p>The Belle Époque was, well ... strange. The war was right there, but everyone pretended otherwise. Anyway, it was the first time it was good to pretend that all was well. We all wanted to yank our heads off due to stress. It was simply chaotic. The whole Europe trembled when Arthur exchanged glances with Ludwig or - worse - when Francis and Gilbert's eyes crossed in the hallway.<p>

Gilbert could not stand being in a room if Francis was in it too. Actually, it was much more Francis not standing the Gilbert because of the Franco-Prussian War, but the hatred was there anyway.

War is something that runs in the blood of the Beilschmidt. I dare saying that it is something of the Germanics in general, but especially of the Beilschmidt, and even more of the eldest. Then he would stay behind a pile of books and maps and went down to read for hours and hours. Surely even discipline must have some kind of limit. He refused to leave the office and stupid jokes were already being missed. So I said I would like to discuss war strategies in my residence. Of course, he accepted right away.

And of course he was a bit annoyed when he did not find tactics and strategies in Budapest. "For God's sake, Erzsébet, do you know what is happening in Africa and in Europe? Are you aware of what is about to happen within a few years? "

"You only live for this stuff now! What is the problem in having a little fun? Is this fun-phobia a Germanic thing or are you all just boring?"

"I have important things to do."

He turned his back on me and was already walking towards the door. "Gilbert," I called him, seeing him turn to me again.

"What is it?"

"I'm going out shopping and when I return, I want to see you impeccable. Do me a favour and put on your best pair of shoes, your best clothes, and wear your best perfume. "

"What if I do not?"

"I'll warn the city guards so that you may not leave without my personal approval."

That is how I convinced him to go with me to one of the best bars in Budapest. Although he kept snorting for some time, at least we were there walking the streets of my capital. We discussed about another kind of war.

"All right, so that's the bet?"

"Yep: The one who drinks more Pálinka in less time can choose the loser's punishment."

"Hah, I think you don't know who you're talking to."

"You call yourself a drinking expert and a professional wanton and has never heard of my reputation? Gil, you still have so much to learn…"

I will not lie that it was extremely unusual for a woman to drink alcohol at that time, but the owners of the property already knew me ... and knew I usually went with a heavy wallet to drink there. Sometimes I paid nothing because I used to challenge other customers and win. In addition, I confess not knowing how much Gilbert was able to drink, but I had the ace in the hole: The Pálinka is infinitely stronger than beer.

We entered the bar and, luckily, there was a spot in the corner of the room, which had a large space without tables or chairs in the centre for the folks who got too excited and went dancing. I explained the conditions of the challenge to the waiter (old acquaintance of mine) and he agreed that our drinking was on the house because we had a foreigner "that would certainly come again in a not so distant future."

People crowded over our table to watch the challenge. The Prussians had a certain reputation for being good at drinking, but the Hungarians wanted to see the real battle between those two heavyweights.

But long story short: He lost. Five minutes passed and he did not go past the second bottle. The drink went in burning through the throat, and he just wanted a glass of water at the end of the challenge. He laughed and reached out to me.

"Well, it seems that your throat was stronger than my ego," he said, already a little red. I greeted him, then letting go of his hand.

"Now comes the punishment, Mr. Beer."

"Shoot it."

At the centre of the bar area, a man announced the presence of a famous traditional band. Some brave customers headed for the gap among the sea of tables to dance. I made a motion with his head, indicating the movement of people. He laughed aloud and gave me that predator's smile of his, white canines showing. Gilbert stood up, bending down a little and reaching out towards me.

"Can I have this dance?"

"Of course, loser."

Too bad he never danced a Csárdás in his life. Even so, he proved to be someone who learns very quickly. The beginning was all full of stomps and stumbling, full of embarrassments and apologies, because he really was trying to be a good partner that night. And I just laughed, saying he was doing well, telling him to continue.

Dance had always been deeply rooted in my culture. The mad dance of Romani gypsies, wandering children of the earth. It was a dance like our people: free, with no rules, no luxuries, no basic steps. It is the kind of thing you learn doing.

And when the Csárdás evolved into something more "chaotic" (as Gilbert himself had named it), he insisted on improvising some steps. Good thing he was not sober enough to be ashamed to feel free on the wooden floor that echoed to the sound of his shoes. In the end, he also pulled me to dance. My (bare) feet flew without the slightest fear of approaching his.

Needless to say, the albino German stole the show at the bar in Budapest; not only the scene, but a drinking glass, the scarf of a poor gentleman and later on, a kiss of mine in my bed.

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><p><strong>FlamingHelmet: <strong>Writing dancing scenes are way more difficult than actually dancing them. Csárdás are horribly difficult, God.

**LángolóSisak: **It was quite funny watching Helmet training describing dance scenes with HSM clips.


	6. A Proposal

"With your body next to mine our hearts will beat as one. And we're set alight, we're afire love." — Ed Sheeran

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><p>In the other day, I mentioned to her that I liked her way of working things out. So ... I think I said "liked" in that sense. I also said I wished we could have autonomy over our own wills and lives. Then I kissed her.<p>

I would use the old excuse and say it was the alcohol. I even made sure to drink enough to get the strong smell, hoping to have a minimally decent reason to have done all the kissing scene, because – let's face it – a "I kissed you because I wanted to know how you kiss," or worse, a "because I want you" wouldn't be taken nicely. Especially if the target of such dubious affection is a married woman.

But back to the original subject: Do what I want. Not quite exactly how many may think; it is not that we are forbidden to do anything. It is just that, as a society, there is a convention code called "morality". The violation of the code triggers guiltiness as a particular criminal justice system. Long story short, we are talking about the whole "angel and devil" on your shoulder.

And let's say I learned to only hear my little devil's side, because I deeply regretted the last time I left the little angel pull my ear.

Young people are very idealistic. The world of imagination is much more beautiful than this uncomfortable reality, isn't it? Plato's Ideal state, intangible and untouchable, housed all the visions of my boy-self mixed with the desire of the man that grew in me. My dreams and my aspirations. Although, when a kid, I dreamed a lot with lands, money and vast armies. Such an ambitious boy…

However, when I finally found out I had a bird inside me that insisted on tweet and bump against my ribs – his cage – every time I thought of the boy who was actually a girl, something changed inside me. The boy who did not want to play with me because he suddenly turned into a woman overnight to marry another Germanic (much less strong and more pathetic, in my opinion). The little bird in my chest wanted to fly with the caterpillar that had become a butterfly. Two single animals, each attached to its own little cage.

The bird got quiet for a while, because I had to grow up a little to console him. Because the angel told me I would be a better person if I resisted the temptation of taking another man's wife. "Okay, little angel," I told him as I lowered my head to the voice of reason.

Still, the bird trashed around, hurting its wings as I thought of her. Then I said, "She does not want violent men like me, birdie," and he kept quiet for a while as he sank into my chest. It hurt to say it, but maybe it was better that way. Better for her.

And damn that butterfly, calling the damn little creature inside of me. Whose owner, even though we were enemies, would come to visit me in dreams, who would come to answer to my kisses on nights of formal balls. Alcohol makes people brave, turns the red bird into a ruby Garuda and turns the green butterfly into an emerald. Eagles and snakes forever destined to mock each other, yet complement each other as Sun and Moon. We loved each other and we knew it even without exchanging letters or looks.

So much that in one of her wedding anniversaries, there was a great marriage ceremony consolidation. It was as if they married again, repeating all that bullshit. I wanted mess it up, but the little angel was there, forcing me to sit and listen to another lecture. The last of them all in all my life. So I opened the cage door and laughed as I watched the bird, my little devil, my heart, take flight in the great hall. I chased the darn bird and only stopped when I held her in my arms in front of everyone. Her head rested on my chest, listening to my heartbeat and her green eyes reflected the glow of the candles of the chandeliers before she answered the call of my chest and laughed it off, kissing me.

"Erzsébet ..."

"Yes, Gilbert?"

The burst of the champagne bottle suddenly evoked the applause of the crowd. I was sitting in the background while on the altar, another man held my bride in his arms. Roderich Edelstein's lips kissed her lips once for the thousandth time, while mine only had met hers once.

I am still waiting for the answer to the question that only I heard:

"... Will you marry me?"

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><p><strong>LángolóSisak: <strong>Did I ever say I love Bukowski's poems?

**FlamingHelmet:** 10/10; better than stabbing yourself in the heart.


	7. Happy Birthday!

"The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it is called the present." — Alice Morse Earler

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><p>It was that day again. The years passed in the blink of the eye for Gilbert and the clock did not run any faster on January 18th. And the Prussian did not see the slightest need in birthdays for nations, even because he wasn't exactly one to begin. Moreover, January 18th was just the day he was born as the Kingdom of Prussia; he also had some other birthdays to celebrate because of his other incarnations (Teutonic Order, Brandenburg-Prussia, DDR, among many others). However, it was something his friends and family asked him to keep that date as his birthday.<p>

It was seven o' clock already, and Ludwig would come in exactly fifteen minutes with that gentle smile that still melted the albino's heart. The older would give his brother a (tight) hug, inviting him to come in. The two Germans would end the chores in a very short time, rewarding themselves with two bottles of the best beer.

The next ones to come would be Francis and António with a large pie and a bottle of champagne. Thankfully, Gilbert was still in pyjamas, and it wasn't anything a bath and a change would not solve. Instruments and speakers were all in the back of the Spanish's truck. After the secret handshake that would last up to a minute, more pre-party heavy work.

Following the order, the Italian brothers arrived. Feliciano was already running into the house searching for the albino by throwing himself on him to unleash his famous "rear naked choke of love." Lovino snorted and sat on the couch, spitting a 'congratulations' before turning on the TV.

Then came Sadiq on his van, bringing Dragomir and Marko. Once the usual mocking-about-being-millennias-old was over, the old colleagues from Eastern Europe helped to move the furniture and organize the barbecue on the backyard.

Roderich came soon after at ten (even though he swore that he would be there with Ludwig). Amazingly, the two were on great terms, to the point that they would even share sincere smiles, formal handshakes and some affectionate hair-messing on the Austrian. But in the end, the amethyst-eyed man sat in the favourite seat of his cousin, to read one of his thousands of books and messing his perfectly alphabetically sorted library.

And no signs of Erzsébet.

In her apartment in Hungary, the brunette just wanted to smash her head on her desk because of the sudden paperwork from her boss. "I need those documents and data memorized to an emergency meeting tomorrow," he ordered the on the phone.

"Gil, I won't be able to get there in time. My fucking boss sent me a bunch of stuff for me to solve right now, but happy birthday, _csíllagom_,"said the Hungarian on a text message. Despite the setback, Gilbert still smiled briefly by reading the word in the language he learned to love.

"Is she coming?" Ludwig asked realizing his brother had his phone in his hands and a smile on his face.

"Sadly, I guess she won't. Motherfucker politicians strike back. "

"Well, we can agree that he has somewhat of a reason to have done it on purpose."

"Just because there was that time she forgot to hide the hickeys on her neck."

"… Gilbert."

"Ludwig, don't play dumb, because you know how it works."

"You two are impossible."

"Fuck it, you know that you can't simply stop when you are there doing the do, especially because we are talking about Erzsi and more so because she was telling me to keep suck–"

"Spare me the details, please."

The rest of the guests were coming gradually, but her absence made the party remain incomplete. There really was something missing there. Even the drinking games, the thousands of poker rounds, the loud music and the jokes could not keep his mind busy.

It was almost the 19th and no sign of her… Half an hour to the end of the day.

Gilbert looked at his watch when a hand, someone pulled him from out of the crowd.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he protested at the time, a little sleepy because of the alcohol. "What do you want–?"

"Hi, asshole," the female voice echoed in his mind amid the darkness of the house. The magenta and blue lights of the small improvised dance floor in the middle of the living room shone her face, revealing the last invited person to appear for the anniversary. "Did I miss something?"

Without giving the albino due time to answer her somewhat rhetorical question, she grabbed him by the shirt, holding her lips to his. Gilbert even tried to say something, but his voice came out of his throat to travel to the mouth that kissed him and numbed his senses. The two quickly separated after the sudden movement.

"How did you …"

"Long story. It's about having to sneak out, disrespecting an officer and not giving a flying fuck about my obligations," she laughed, taking him to the upper floor. "And I know you keep your spare key next to the doghouse."

"Atta girl."

The two pairs of lips met again to lose themselves in the motion they created themselves. He pushed her against the wall until they finally stopped and slowly broke the kiss.

Every time she looked into his eyes, she would get fascinated as in the first time in their childhood.

Every time he touched her, he felt the heat invade his body, dye his face red and make his heart beat faster.

Every time she kissed him, he felt sure that that feeling was real, that it was human.

Each time he apologized, she laughed, ignoring the mistakes until they go unnoticed.

Each time she felt their steps, their breathing synchronizing, she would realize that the two souls belonged together.

Every time he closed his eyes and imagined only her there, above the loud sound and the lights that sought them in the shadows, he would leave all the uncertainties and fears aside to pursue the heart for which his very one beat, was beating and would beat without remorse.

And finally, even if none of the two lovers knew how long they would have each other to love, they knew that the best choice they could do there was to love each other today, in that day.

There was no greater gift for Gilbert than the Present itself.

* * *

><p><strong>FlamingHelmet: <strong>OOooohhh it's a shame it's over so soon! D: Well, I'm very tired, it's 4:17 already and I really need to sleep after all these evenings we spent writing. I hope you guys enjoyed it and see you around!

**LángolóSisak:** Can't believe it's finally over… We had loads of fun writing the chapters (CHUGGING DOWN BOTTLES AND BOTTLES OF COKE TO KEEP AWAKE), but here we are. Welp, like Helmet said, I deeply hope you have liked our run through the week! Please, if you do have some time to spare us, write a review! It would encourage us to write a lot more! So, here's our final chapter and see you folks later!


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